Page 87 of Between Now and Always

“Oh, chéri,” she breathes, squeezing harder for just a moment before she lets me go and stands back. She scans me from head to toe. “You look so beautiful, darling. I’m so happy to see you,” she says and her eyes mist a little.

I’m not sure what to make of the warmth in her greeting. Our phone call was brief. She’d only said, “It will be good to see you,” before she hung up.

I’m not sure how I feel about seeing her but it feels weird to say nothing, so I say the only thing that I’m certain of. “You look beautiful, too. Thank you for coming to meet me.”

We settles in our chairs, and she signals for our server before she looks at me again.

“Is your home close by?” I speak first.

She nods, her eyes warming as if just the thought of home makes her happy.

“Yes, it is. We’re in a lovely suburb of Genève called Carouage. It’s fifteen minutes away by car. Let’s get dessert, The tiramisu here is really worth the calories.”

The server approaches and she orders. I watch her and listen, my heart lodges in my throat.

Her voice is beautiful, just as it had been when I was a little girl - her French accent is more pronounced now, that lilting, slightly husky quality was, at one point, the only thing that could soothe me.

If I close my eyes, I could pretend I was a little girl again, listening to her reading French children’s stories to me, and stroking my hair while I drifted off to sleep.

When the server leaves, she turns back to look at me and I smile blandly, pushing away that little moment and the nostalgia it conjured.

“You were in France? Did you come to Genève alone?” she asks.

I shake my head. “My…man is upstairs,” I don’t know why calling Carter my boyfriend feels like such an understatement.

She smiles, deeply enough that twin dimples appear in her cheeks. “Of course, I saw the very romantic moment you shared with your very handsome musician. My heart could not have been more full. Love like that is the most life sustaining gift you will ever receive. How did you meet him?” she asks.

“He’s the son of Andrew Wolfe and Susan Kendicott. He and Phil are brothers,” I say, getting straight to the point.

Her smile disappears and the blood drains from her face. Her eyes widen with shock and presses a trembling hand to her lips

“What? How?…” she asks in a gasp that trails off as the desert she ordered arrives.

I wait for our server to walk away before I answer.

“You were married to him when he took Phil from Susan. You were married when Susan got pregnant again. So, you can’t say you didn’t know. I’m assuming your surprise is thatIknow?”

She leans away watching me, not responding, but the calculation that creeps into her eyes tells me everything I need to know.

The stab of disappointment in my chest catches me off guard. I didn’t realize, until now, that I’d hoped she would be clueless. That she wouldn’t have left her daughter with a man she knew was capable of the kind of cruelty he’d shown Susan.

“If he’s Susan’s son as you say…that would mean he’s your brother,” she whispers in horror.

My patience runs out. “Mother, cut the shit.”

She blinks, and if I didn’t know better, I’d believe the confusion that furrows her delicate brows.

I scoff.

“Itwouldmean that, but our DNA says different. We were tested and we don’t have a single marker in common. That is very rare. So no,motherwe’re not related at all. He and Phil are full siblings, though,” I say casually, and pick up my fork to take a bite of the dessert while I watch her squirm.

She sits back her chair. Her hands fall into her lap and the last traces of calm she’s been wearing completely gone. She shakes her head, her expression stunned, her face grows paler as she stares unseeingly past me.

“Mother,” I snap, and slam my hand down onto the table and she flinches and bring her stark eyes back into the focus.

“I don’t know what to say,” she breathes.

“Why don’t you tell me the truth? Who is my father? And why did you leave me withhim?”

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